not of weakness, but of power
by finaljoy
Summary: "There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love." -Washington Irving (five times oliver queen has seen people cry, and then one time someone saw him)
1. sorrow

_AN This is my first Arrow fic and I have negative regrets. All of these moments are set in season one, but I don't have a definite timeline. So, shuffle them in wherever you think they fit :'D_

_Also, I am all sorts of smitten with the image of Oliver being an absolute snuggle monster, so if it seems like there's a lot of physical contact in this...well, my headcannon, my rules._

_Written for The Beta Branch challenge Never Have I Ever! Things I have never done- 5 +1, Arrow, such intense bursts of fluff and cute with so few words._

* * *

**i. sorrow**

Oliver knocked on his mother's office door, waiting patiently as her assistant stared nervously into his back. She had tried to ward him off with some feeble protest, but arrogant and entitled Oliver Queen was not one to hold back his plans because some secretary stammered herself out of a job.

"Oh, Oliver," Moira whispered, pulling her door open, "honey, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to call you."

"So, no lunch," he said. He didn't have to fake the pang of disappointment in his stomach.

"No, I'm so sorry. This conference call, I absolutely cannot duck out of it."

Oliver nodded, then pushed a smile to his face. He didn't really have a right to feel annoyed. He had been the one to cancel the day before,much to his mother's passive aggressive chagrin. But the Hood had found a time sensitive lead, and one of the two had to go.

"It's fine, Mom. We can do it tomorrow, right?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, dear," Moira sighed, a look of relief and absolute gratitude on her face. "I suppose this is a lesson to teach me to be a little more understanding from now on."

"Okay. See you later," he said, kissing her on the cheek and allowing her to slip back into her office.

Oliver sighed as he watched her walk back to her desk, looking harried. Then he turned on his heel, and sauntered back past the assistant like she didn't exist. Diggle continued in the role as the stoic body guard, not saying a word as Oliver punched in the button to the IT floor inside the elevator. He couldn't take Felicity out to lunch (even though she had earned a break just as much as his mother had), but he could at least say hi.

Felicity's shoulders were hunched toward her screen as he approached. Her eyes were glued to the screen, as well as a little…teary?

He glanced back at Diggle, who had noticed as well. He gave Oliver a tiny headshake in way of saying he didn't know what had happened. Oliver scrolled through the past few days for any reason for Felicity to be crying at work, but he came up blank. He turned his head back to her, unsure if he wanted to get involved.

"Felicity?" he called, giving her a few yards buffer. She gave a small gasp and spun away, the headphones yanking out of her ears.

"Oh, hi, Oliver," she stammered, face now buried in a filing drawer. He didn't miss the way she swiped at her eyes. "What're—what're you guys doing here?"

"I was going to take my mom to lunch, but she canceled."

"I hope that I'm not your cheap replacement," she joked, still digging around in the drawer. "Not that I'm saying I'm cheap! Or that you are. And I'm totally not saying that I wouldn't like to go to lunch with you, that'd be really great, I'm sure you have amazing taste. I—what do you guys want," she said, taking a long breath and turning back around. She peered at them over her computer screen, silently begging them to save her from herself.

"Just saying hi. You're still working on my computer, right?"

"Uhm, yeah, should be done in a day or so," she said. Thank heavens had seriously improved on the rapid fire lying front. Oliver wasn't much one to come up with excuses on the fly, but the first few times they had spoken about his escapade in public, Felicity had been an awkward frazzled mess, trying to cover herself and failing horrendously.

Oliver watched her for a moment, then dragged in a breath.

"Are you…okay?"

"Oh, yeah, uhm, I'm fine. Are you fine?"

"Yep. And you, Digg?"

"I'm just peachy, Mr. Queen."

Felicity's lips quirked at their teasing, but the remnants of tears were still there.

"Felicity…"

"It's just this _stupid_ tv show," she blurted, snapping her hand in a violent gesture toward her screen. Oliver blinked at her, slowly swiveled to exchange a look with Diggle to make sure he had heard correctly, then looked back at Felicity.

"I'm…sorry?"

"It's just—it's just—I know I really shouldn't be watching it here at work, but I've just been so swamped _outside_ lately, and I've been managing to steal an episode here or there, but I just watched the penultimate episode last night, and I _need_ to know what happens next, it's the season finale, and I just—if they really didn't want me to watch at work, they should have made it harder to access streaming sites!" she finished, the words coming out in a frantic whisper. Oliver blinked at Felicity, trying to think of a response to such a tirade.

"You…want to explain?"

This was not the right response.

"I just can't do this!" she huffed, hands waving in the air. "I mean—I get that the actual plot is really important, I really do, White Collar has got a pretty on point set of writers, and this is it, this is make it or break it time. But I just—I just—it's Neal and Sara! They're just trying to get up higher into the Empire State Building, but Neal just proposed to her, and he was there on one knee at the observation deck, and he was being so _honest_, because Sara really is perfect for him, she knows he's a criminal, but she doesn't _care_, she's there helping him, risking federal prison! And yeah, I snuck a look at next season's cast list, and she's not there, so this is really it. But you can see it in their _eyes,_ and they just love each other so much, and he's completely honest when he says that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, but she knows it's not real, that it won't work, and their _eyes—_I've watched it three times already and I'm still tearing up and I can't figure out why!"

Felicity heaved in another breath, and then slowly let it out. Oliver stared at her, trying to process all that she had just babbled.

"And…this is a tv show?"

"_Yes._ And don't tell me that they're _just characters,_ I know that, I really do, but fiction shapes the world, and it touches people, and it's perfectly acceptable when people cry over books, why can't I cry over this damn perfect and heartbreaking proposal in a tv show?"

"I…don't know," Oliver said, completely confused as to what to do. Clearly, there was a different protocol for dealing with television based emotions.

Felicity sniffed, and waved her hand at Oliver.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to explode, it's just…"

"Their eyes," he finished for her.

"_Yes._"

"Alright, then. Uhm…enjoy the rest of the episode," Oliver said, slowly backing away from her cubicle.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, turning her eyes back to her screen like it held very bittersweet truths.

"You know, I'm impressed," Diggle said, once they were in the elevator. "For a second, I actually believed you _weren't_ completely shutting down."

"Shut up. You could have helped me, you know. There were..._tears._"

"Must not've had many of those on the island."

"_No,_ actually. It was mostly just the blood and sweat part of the saying."

Diggle snorted, and shook his head.

* * *

_AN To avoid confusion-the computer they are referring to is not the bullet-y laptop Oliver first brings to her, but a random laptop they invented in case Oliver needed a reason to go down and see her :)_

_I really wanted Felicity to be watching something OTHER than Game of Thrones or Doctor Who, so I picked one of my favorite popular tv show moments._

(_Felicity is crying over this scene because she's thinking about her and Oliver)_


	2. shock

_AN This chapter is a bit heavier, but I mean, come on. This IS Arrow I'm writing for ;) Next chapter will return to the story's light tone._

_Thea Queen is an actual queen and also the princess of my heart._

Warning: allusions to attempted date rape, underage substance abuse

* * *

**ii. shock**

"Thea? Speedy, you know it's like, eleven, right? You should really eat."

Oliver looked down at the tray he had carried up for her. Perhaps piling the plate quite so high had been a mistake. He knew she wouldn't eat much, not after the shouting match downstairs.

It hadn't been good. She, yet again, had been arrested. As far as Oliver could tell, she had been more buzzed than out and out drunk, but that didn't change the fact that she and her friends had been drag racing down a less than empty street in the Glades. It was only great good luck that made it Thea's friends the ones to be stoned out of their minds and holding.

But Moira had had enough. Oliver had noticed she had been short all day, her tone turning razor over the mildest things. That had been before they realized Thea hadn't come home.

Then the cops arrived with Thea in tow, and the moment they had gone, Moira rounded on her daughter. Accusations like _thrill seeking, addiction, recklessness_, and _stupidity_ had been thrown from her lips. Thea sniped back just as quickly, with _piety, God complex, sibling bias,_ and even _feigned motherly affection._

Oliver quietly left the foyer when his name was thrown under the bus, because this was _not_ about him. He may have had to flee the den when the argument threatened to come even closer, but staying out of the way and letting them tussle it out seemed like the wisest choice.

When Thea had had enough, she marched upstairs and slammed her door loud enough to make the downstairs windows shake.

Oliver had tried to talk to his mother afterward, but she had brushed him off with a '_Aren't you glad I took your advice_?'

He had been stuck for a moment, unsure what to do next. He tried reading, watching tv, anything to shake the overall _sour_ feeling left behind by the argument. Oliver had been in a lot of fights, and he'd seen plenty, too. But he couldn't really recall the last time he'd seen such a bruiser.

So, he had picked himself up and played medic.

Raisa had still been in the kitchen when he stopped by. He had felt acutely uncomfortable that he no longer knew what his sister's favorite food was, but Raisa had given him a warm smile. Her hands were already reaching for a pan by the time he finished explaining what he wanted to do.

Now, Oliver was at Thea's door, unsure what was next. She hadn't responded, but he'd heard her move at the sound of his voice. His hand hovered over the knob, but he forced it back to his side.

This was _so_ much harder than back flipping over roof tops.

"Thea," he tried again, voice softer, "please let me in."

So _those_ were strange words to hear coming from his own mouth.

Oliver let out a long breath, and sat down beside her door. He glanced at the plate, at the laughable mountains of food. He sighed. Again, over compensating for too much with too little.

He picked up a clump of rice with is fingers, and popped it into his mouth. He hadn't really eaten dinner, either.

He silently picked at the plate, letting his mind wander while nibbling on a snow pea. Oliver tried to think about the list, about the next name, where he could go from there. But his mind kept wandering back to his sister, locked away behind him.

The door suddenly yanked open, and he turned his head to find Thea, frozen in the midst of walking through her doorway. She had was wearing a deer in the headlights look, staring at him sitting on the floor. Her makeup was hideously smeared, and her eyes were red.

"Are you eating the food you brought me?" she asked, almost standoffish enough to hide the fact that she was congested from tears.

"It seemed like a little much for one person," he admitted. She nodded, and relaxed into a a more natural position.

"Where're you going?" he asked, making his voice as gentle as possible.

"To the bathroom," she snapped, trying to bait him into an argument. He just nodded, and stayed where he was. Thea huffed and stalked off. A minute later, she was back. Her makeup had been washed off, and she had removed her earrings.

She stopped in front of her door, turning to look at him.

"_Fine,_" she sighed, gesturing him in. "Stop looking so sorry for yourself and go in."

Oliver got to his feet, and obediently shuffled into her room.

Thea shut the door behind her, but it wasn't slammed like last time. He stood in the middle of the room, watching her.

"Well, _sit,_" Thea said, snapping her hand out at her bed. "Geez, I don't have to freakin' guide you through everything."

Oliver sat down, still holding the tray with both hands. Thea plopped down beside him, eyes on the food.

"You know I like beef and snow peas?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Raisa may have given me some help," he admitted, setting the tray between them. Thea snorted, but picked up the fork and ate a mouthful.

"You weren't kidding about it being too much for one person."

"I know," he said, taking the liberty to steal a piece of beef.

They were quiet for a moment, then finally Thea asked, "Well, aren't you going to berate me like Mom?"

Oliver watched her. She hadn't looked up from the plate while she spoke, vehemently stabbing into a snow pea.

"I'm not up here to ride you," he told her gently. "I just—Thea, you can't—I don't want to see you hurt."

"_Okay._"

"Which is _why_ I take issue with the fact you went drag racing down a road full of people."

"It wasn't _full of people._ And I didn't hit anyone."

"You were drunk, you're seventeen, half of your friends were high and some of them were found with drugs."

"Well, when you put it _that_ way…"

"_Thea_," Oliver said, then bit the inside of his cheek.

"What do you want from me, Ollie?" she snapped, and when she glared at him, he could see something other than blatant defiance. It was skittish, likely to be gone within a few moments. "What do you want me to say? That I regret doing it? Because I don't, I really, really don't. I can't really remember the last time I had so much fun, no thanks to you. And yeah, it might have been a little stupid, but no one got _hurt—"_

"And how long do you think that was going to last, with a few bottles of GHB on board?"

"I wasn't going to use it. I'm not completely _stupid_, you know."

"Thea…there is a reason why I don't want you out doing this," he said, words slow as he forced his voice to be soft, forced himself to be calm and understanding. "You look at me and Tommy, see all the stupid fun we had, I get it. It looks great, in a really trashy, reckless sort of way. But there are things that happened, stuff I got into, stuff that I heard about, that I _never_ told you, for good reason. I would never be able to look myself in the eye if something happened because I didn't even _try_ to warn you."

Thea looked away suddenly. Her hands were clenched on her lap, and he saw her jaw working as she stared at the wall. She took a shaky breath, then smoothed her hands out flat.

"I didn't know," she said, that congested quality coming back to her voice. "I didn't know that they had it until the cops showed up."

"What?"

"The GHB. I—I wasn't driving at that point, but I was in the front. And I didn't realize, at first, what they were talking about, but some of the guys in there with me were upset. The guy that owned the car was trying to get me to dump something out the window, but I wouldn't until I knew what it was."

Thea took a deep sniff, and grit her teeth. Oliver was clenching his own hands, dreading what she was going to say next.

"When I found out, I asked him what it was for, why he didn't at least offer it up front. That's—that's usually what happens, you know? But he—he didn't—he looked me dead in the eye, Ollie," she said, looking at him now. The tears were finally falling, and Oliver could finally read the other thing hiding in her features. Fear.

"He looked me in the eye, and he did not say why he had it, but I _knew_, I knew that afterward—_Ollie, __I was so scared," _she gasped, breaking into a full on sob. "I didn't know they had it, I never would have gone with them other wise. I was so relieved that the police had come, and I didn't—I didn't—_"_

Oliver grabbed Thea into a hug, hating the way she sobbed into his shirt. He swallowed, stamping down the urge to go break into the QCPD, find out just which cretin had wanted to date rape his sister, and then _murder him_. But instead he held tight onto Thea, hands wound in her hair to anchor him, because she needed _Oliver _just then.

What a joke. Here he was, trying to defend a city, when he could barely protect his little sister.

"Does Mom know?" he asked when Thea's tears seemed to slow.

"_No," _she scoffed, pulling back from him a little. "Please, she'd never let me even _look_ out a window if she did. As it is, I'm going to be stuck here till I'm forty."

Oliver stroked her hair, focusing on his breathing, focusing on being there and being thankful that nothing had happened to her. It had been stupid, and they had a barrelful of legal trouble to now deal with, but she was _alright._

Thea tried to put on a brave face, but her expression still seemed fragile.

"I just feel so awful," she whispered. "I mean, I know how bad it could have gone. I _know, _I knew it the moment he told me what it was, but some part of me said that I still had to act like I normally would. I wanted to tell Mom so bad, but she completely flew off the handle as it was, and I was just so angry at her and _myself—_"

"It's alright, Speedy," he said, rubbing her back. "It's okay. We'll sort this out. I just…I'm just glad that you're okay."

Thea squeezed out a smile. She leaned against his shoulder for a moment, then Oliver cleared his throat.

"We still have this plate of food left," he began, gesturing at the tray beside them. "So why don't we work through that, and you tell me about the _good_ parts of your week."

"I promise, I wasn't doing this every day," she laughed. It only sounded a little watery.

"No, but I know for a fact that you have been doing homework lately, and I could honestly pass on stories about government and math theorems."

"_Okay,_" she smiled. "But you've gotta tell me about your week, first."

"Sure," he said, giving her a smile.

They moved back to the headboard, and cleared the plate. Oliver told her as much as he could about his days, soaking up Thea's small look of hope on her as he spoke. She fell asleep curled up against his chest, exhausted but not miserable.

Oliver stayed awake for a while, thinking just how _lucky_ the Queen family had been that night.


	3. hope

_AN I love Tommy. Tommy is the air beneath my wings and I just-_**_Tommy._**

* * *

**iii. hope**

Oliver leaned against the bar, scanning the club floor. They were still a week out from opening Verdant, but things were finally coming together. It was certainly a long way from the run down and dirty husk it had been a short while ago. The floor had been refurbished, new railings brought in, lights and music systems, a bar and stage. The last few touches were fast approaching, and then it would be open.

"Isn't it amazing?" Tommy asked, coming to stand by Oliver. He gave a satisfied sigh, as though filling himself up with the accomplishment. "And people said we'd never amount to anything."

"Technically, we haven't, yet," Oliver reminded, but he couldn't quell the small smile on his lips.

"No? Tell that to the mile long list of reservations already made. The entrance fees _alone_ will probably have us breaking even."

"_Okay,_" Oliver said. He knew what Tommy meant, though. Standing against the bar, they could see the whole place. It seemed huge—huge and promising and amazing. And that was even without the people, music, and lights.

"If I'd known that actually _doing_ something with myself felt this good, I would have done it years ago," Tommy laughed. Oliver grinned, and rolled his eyes.

"Because the hours of yelling at contractors, suppliers, and potential entertainers was _tons_ of fun."

"Geez, you are just a ray of sunshine today, aren't you?"

"Just keeping you in check," Oliver said, raising his hands in mock defense. Tommy grinned, then braced himself back against the counter.

"This place is _ours_," Tommy whispered, just like he was making a wish. Oliver smiled, and glanced over at him. His over eager, mischievous Ollie grin dimmed down to something a little more sincere when he realized that Tommy's eyes were shining with tears.

If Tommy noticed him looking, he didn't say anything. Oliver glanced down at the floor, aware of how Tommy tearing up at the sense of accomplishment filled his chest. He liked that look, that candid, shiny look of hope in Tommy's eyes. He reached over and clapped Tommy on the shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. Tommy laughed, more at himself than anything, like he was a little embarrassed and was brushing the moment off. He wiped away the tears and gave a hearty sniff. That look didn't leave his face, though. It was like he was a pauper, and the stars and the moon had just been placed in his hands. Oliver didn't let go, didn't let the moment stop being worth everything to Tommy.

They stayed that way for a while, standing still, Oliver's hand on Tommy's shoulder. They stood still and looked at their club, drinking in all of the hard work they had done.


	4. anger

_AN Oliver is referencing Parks and Rec._

* * *

**iv. anger**

"Unbelievable. Unbelievable!" Laurel snapped, slamming her folder onto her desk. Oliver exchanged a look with Tommy, unsure what his place was here. Laurel ran her hand through her hair, glaring into space. She suddenly snapped her hand out, grabbed her stapler, and flung it across the room.

"_Whoa,_ okay, okay, how about we _not_ throw things," Tommy said. His hands were half up, as if he expected Laurel to start attacking him next, and he looked sufficiently alarmed. He and Oliver had planned on surprising her with a good old fashioned, totally not awkward and completely relaxed dinner. Laurel was just checking on a few things in the empty office when she got the call about her released scumbag.

"Laurel, okay, I know you're upset—"

"Upset is when coffee spills on your shirt before an interview. _Upset_ is when your dog craps all over your carpet! I'm absolutely _pissed._ That—that—do you _know_ what he does?" she demanded, wheeling around to face the two of them. Angry tears were in her eyes, and they fell in great, heavy drops to the floor.

"_No_," Tommy said. His hands were still up, and he seemed afraid to blink, like Laurel might fling herself at him if he showed weakness. "You pointedly refused to tell me what this guy did."

"He trafficked _children._ He brought them in out of East Asia and he—he—he sold them _everywhere._ The things he did—the things he _does_, now, since that _idiot_ over in California let him go—they are absolutely _evil._ And now he's back, now he's out on the streets, his finances unfrozen, his assets back in the clear."

"Well, maybe we could recruit the Hood to do something about it," Tommy joked, then cast a desperate look toward Oliver that said _'please pick up the slack here I need help she's crying and she's stopped throwing things but I'm still scared'._

"Come on, Laurel, I'm sure it's not as bad—"

"It is, Oliver! It is _exactly_ as bad as it seems! This _monster _is out there, shuffling more and more children off to _labs_ and _whore houses_, and—and—"

"I'm sure he's not going to get back into the business right away," Oliver said, shrugging. He was using his calm voice, nonchalant in the face of catastrophe. Even though it was a few notches shy of the '_what's your damage I have money to throw at the problem' _voice Laurel knew and hated, it seemed to help calm her down. "I mean, he's been black listed. The police had him, he was actually doing time for a few years, and he got out on a technical—"

"_Bribe,_ more like."

"—he got out on a fluke. No one's going to want to get into bed with someone like that, not with the public eye all over him."

"I know," she huffed, running another hand through her hair. Her anger had burned away, and now she seemed so horribly disappointed. The tears probably didn't help. "I know, but…he _can _do something, and I don't want…I don't want any more kids hurt."

"I know," Tommy said. He risked walking around her desk and pulled her into a hug, now that he didn't seem to be in danger of a coffee mug to the head. Oliver glanced away until he saw them break apart out of the corner of his eye.

"I know it sucks, I know it really, really does. You helped convict him, right? And now he's out. But Laurel, there's really nothing you can do. Not much _anyone_ can do, until…like I said, not much," Tommy said, wisely clamping down on the _'until he starts selling children again and the police eventually catch him' _part of his sentence.

"Alright, we need to get out of here," Oliver said, making his voice breezy. Laurel sent him a slightly wounded look, but Tommy leaped on the idea.

"No, great idea! Let's get out of the office, go get ice cream, or something."

"It's January, Tommy."

"Yeah, and we're in _Washington,_ not Maine. It's going to snow and then it's going to rain and it'll be above 35 until December. We can get away with ice cream."

"C'mon, Laurel. Treat yo' self."

Laurel cast him a look, halfway between _what the—_ and _when did you ever?_

"Thea's been catching me up," he explained. "That is probably the only spa I can ever see myself going to."

"You guys are idiots," she sighed, but she let herself be dragged out of the CNRI to the closest ice cream parlor they could find.

* * *

_AN I found out that Starling is set in Washington, and I just about cartwheeled into the sun because TAKE THAT, EAST COAST, and I love love love the Pacific Northwest, so it's nice seeing it get some very rainy love :)_


	5. love

_AN I feel kind of bad, because Moira has been pretty much benched in this so far, but I loooooove her. I think she's such an amazing character, I wish we could have seen so much more of her in the show._

* * *

**v. love**

"Oliver, it's really very kind that you're concerned about me, but—"

"Mom, I have it on good authority that you haven't looked at anything but the news, business documents, and Thea's report card in the last week."

"_Oliver_, really, I'm fine. I just need to get through this report for the meeting tomorrow."

"How long is it?"

"Oh, too long. But if I skim the parts I haven't read already, there's only about…seven pages," Moira said, flipping through the packet in her hands.

"And your meeting, when is it."

"It's at eleven, but I—"

"Okay. Go ahead, read. I won't bother you," he said, flopping down beside his mother on the bed. Moira cast him a look, but he kept his expression innocent and gestured at the packet.

"Go on. You have seven pages of skimming to do."

Moira turned her eyes back to her papers. Oliver watched her read for a moment, then he focused on how _tired_ she looked. She hid it under some makeup and a grunt load of poise, but he could see that everything was wearing on her. His disappearance, the trouble he and Thea had run into respectively, the disappointments, the trials with Walter, having to take control of QC and all of its troubles. She had somehow turned into the mother of the whole city, and yet she was forced to choose who received and who did not. His job was easy compared to hers. At least he always had the list, Felicity, and Diggle to help guide him toward the people he needed to protect.

Absently, her hand settled onto his head, and she stroked his hair like she had when he was a child. Oliver closed his eyes, and for a moment, he could almost forget.

Moira sighed, shifted, and set down the papers.

"Well, I hope you're happy," she said, giving Oliver a playfully stern look. "All I can think about is how I'm always complaining about how little time we have together, and yet here I am, trading tedious reports for time with my son."

"I really don't mind, Mom," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, I'm here, that's okay, right?"

"Yes, of course. I just…oh, never mind."

"What?"

"No, we're having a sweet moment. Tell me about your day."

_I shot two men, trained until I couldn't see straight, slept until I stumbled back to consciousness, avoided Laurel and Tommy, pissed off Thea with my lies, and now I'm here with you._

"What was it, Mom?"

"I just…I don't really know how to act around you anymore," she admitted. "Or Thea. I don't know how it happened. One moment, I'm your mother, and then…I'm just a woman that lives in the same house, and you both seem to resent having me try to do what I did before."

Oliver looked at her for a long moment, and then squeezed her hand.

"Sometimes, Mom, what you did before isn't what we need. But we _do_ need you. You're our mom."

"No one in this house seems to know quite who they are, anymore," Moira sighed, resting her head against his. Oliver closed his eyes again and swallowed.

Moira pressed her lips into his hair, and gave a soft sigh. It seemed a lot heavier than the one before it.

A drop landed on his hand, hot and weary against his skin. Oliver looked at it, slowly rolling its way down to his wrist, but didn't say anything. He wrapped an arm around his mother, and kissed her on the cheek. He rested his head against her shoulder, and focused on the fact that she was stroking her thumb over his hand, rather than her quietly crying.


	6. frustration

_AN I really enjoyed writing this. It was a fun little introduction piece for the Arrow world, and it allowed me to shamelessly roll around in all of my emotions. Thank you all for the attention this has received, it's frankly tickled me pink :)_

* * *

**\+ i. frustration **

"Hey, Oliver, you in here?"

"Yeah, Digg, gimme a sec," Oliver said, grimacing at the rasp in his voice. He straightened, and ran his wrist against his eyes. It had been a long, long day, one that had begun with Thea sneering at him for his hypocrisy, hovered around the middle with Laurel snapping at him for the horrible image he willingly sank into, and finally tapped out with one of the guys on the list leaving the city before Oliver could get to him.

It had been a long day. And it would be followed by another long day, and another after that, and on and on until he was done with the list and he was left with _wreckage_, because he could not have the little details and the big picture at the same time.

"Hey," Diggle said, voice gentle. At this point, Oliver genuinely _did not care_ if he saw him. He glanced around, and almost didn't feel anything at the gentle edge in Diggle's eyes.

Oliver just looked at him, unable to drag up the energy to say anything. He was sitting the Foundry, looking tired and pathetic with a bow, some arrows, and a bottle of vodka for friends. Diggle watched him a moment, weighing it all out. It was a rare person to catch a fractured Oliver Queen in their hands, and measure him in terms of recovery, and not damage done.

"You don't have to do it all, you know."

"Yeah, I know," he said, gruff now that the moment had passed. He tried shouldering his way around Diggle, but he held his hand out, pressing it against Oliver's chest and holding him in place. Obviously, Diggle did not agree.

"Really. You spend all your time focusing on defending the city, keeping people safe, protecting them from the evil rich. But, as much as you may hate the fact, you _are_ just a guy. You can't possibly expect yourself to be strong enough to go full out, every day, never resting, never taking anything for yourself."

"I _know_," Oliver said, giving Diggle a flat look. Diggle matched it with his own, and shook his head.

"No, you don't. Either you're down here, up in your Hood, or dancing around anything that requires more than a couple drinks and a few hours' worth of time."

"_Diggle_," he bit out, "I'm _really_ not in the mood for a lecture."

"Then how about a little advice. It's _okay _ to stop for a little bit, let yourself be the Oliver Queen you're always covering up, for the sakes of other people."

"I don't have the _luxury—_"

"Of caring about people? You know, Oliver, I really doubt that. If you fight for it, you could be happy, at least for a few moments."

Oliver looked away from him, mouth shut tight. He thought he knew what happy was, and despite what Diggle believed, he knew how to grab moments of it. It was hoping for anything more that got him into trouble.

"So how about we make a deal?" Diggle said, and his eyes were more kind than ass kicking. "I'll get off your back, if, for one day, you go home and give a bit of time to your family, see what you can see. Find a bit of happy for a whole minute, see how that feels."

Oliver watched Diggle for a long moment, then turned back to the table. He picked up the vodka, and poured a glass.

"Oliver, I don't think—"

"Relax, it's only one."

He offered the glass to Diggle, and kept the bottle for himself. Diggle eyed him, then took the glass.

"One day, for seeing and stuff."

"Yeah, seeing and stuff," Diggle snorted, as if he _really_ could not believe that he was working with such a blockhead. "See if that doesn't make you a little better.

"Not better."

Oliver considered what he had said for a moment, then raised the bottle in toast to Diggle.

"_Prochnost."_

"Uh, yeah, _prochnost,_" Diggle said, raising his glass, and then tipping it back.

Oliver gave him a tired smile, closed up the bottle, and headed home.


End file.
